I’ll miss you. Your soul stories ignite me to worship God. But straddling book and blog gives you less than you deserve. I’m sad with those excited for the next post, but something even better is coming!

“It’s just a really tight fit.” I stood in the basement holding the PVC pipe sticking through the floor.

“It’s really stuck. Come look.”

Idiot. I connected the wire around the frame.

“Pull it out. I have to rewire it,” I said. Nearly 7 p.m. No dinner. I was ready to combust or give up or cry. “Okay. Try again.”

“It’s still stuck.”

“Push it in straight. The linoleum is uneven so it doesn’t have any grip on the back.”

Matt pushed at the bottom with his feet. He pushed from his stomach while I stood by his feet to give leverage.

“Mary, it’s stuck. Did you check the hose?”

Crap. “We’re crushing the hose against the side of the sink. Pull it out.” Three stores to find the right hose. Now it was flattened. Finally reattached, I bent the PVC pipe in the basement to get it through the hole.

I squirmed. God, if this is what unbroken access is about, I want nothing to do with it.

But part of me knew he spoke truth, knew his experience was legitimate. God, I believe you dwell inside of me. I believe I have access to you that I should experience daily. I want that.

God’s presence surged. Like New Testament writers, I couldn’t describe my soul’s experience with the Holy Spirit. Rivers of living water overflowed from my innermost being, spilling onto those around me.

God is dwelling inside my body. Unfathomable by my mind, but overwhelming my heart. God brought himself to the nearest place of my human existence.

Joy replaced weariness. I had been a zealous Bible school student. I begged God to come meet with me. I prayed harder with my buddies to break the veil.

God was a distant dad who wanted to visit but somehow couldn’t. Only moments of mercy in the right corporate worship broke the separation. Only the right atmosphere.

Now we’ve had Bible studies in brothels. Darkness and demons cannot touch the atmosphere that lives inside us–the Holy Spirit.

God’s spirit inside us is the source of change. He splashes over, quenching the thirst of broken women. A prostitute prayed for a client.

“You need Jesus,” she said and gave our business card.

I see people overcome cycles of addiction and abuse not by trying harder, but by experiencing the life of the Spirit.

By simply knowing, “I believe, and now I’m filled with the Holy Spirit.” Their inner man becomes bigger, and their outer man, drawn to addiction, breaks away. Souls at ease, delivered from fear, established in intense confidence as children of God.

“Joel was killed.” Loud silence. The sound of grief, heartbreak. What a waste. No respect for the brother, husband, father he was.

“Justin,” a rush to my chest where I know to fellowship with God, “the loss of Joel is a reminder of how much I care about those people.”

Without any details of lives changed, the Spirit assured me he was involved. My brother’s murder was not in vain. If death can’t stop us, nothing can.

It’ll take a long time, but we’re gonna win because we’re on God’s team. We’re constantly disappointed. We want to see girls freed from a system of prostitution that destroys self-worth. We want to see complete restoration. That is crazy.

But if God set himself inside of us, what can stop us? We rejoice in our trials. That’s ridiculous, except God constantly shows us the best is yet to come. We experience joy simultaneously.

We’re on track to impact lives because God’s train is unstoppable.

Justin Shrum is the founder and president of The Justice Project International, a nonprofit combatting human trafficking and commercial sexual exploitation in Germany’s legalized sex industry. A husband, father, and tabletop gamer, Justin’s passion is teaching, seeing people worship a God they know a little bit better now. Connect at TheJusticeProject.net.

Matt woke up to pray with me while I cried before work. He told me not to make him lunch, so I could stay a little longer. Greasy quesadillas with a friend made the perfect lunch. A bonfire and chats about God’s presence in struggle ended the day.

I need thankfulness to keep me full, especially in the days I cry. I eat every few hours. Of course a morning thankful list already has me hangry by the time Matt hugs me at the end of the day.

“God, help me to be more religious about thanking you than I am about snacking.”

“But, God, you told us to foster. We’d be sending John and his siblings to an unhealthy foster home.”

God’s no shocked us. We finally were doing foster to adopt like God said.

We’d been trying to have kids for eight years, resisting what felt like buying a baby or adopting just to have kids. We needed to be called, not just feeling good about rescuing an infant.

“When I’m at a family reunion watching the kids play,” my pastor said, “I couldn’t tell you which ones were adopted because they’re all my nieces and nephews.”

He’s right. I don’t feel like an adopted child of God. God loves me like I’m his, because I am his.

“I’m ready to pursue adoption,” I told Loren, surprised God had changed his nope to yes.

We cried saying goodbye to John and his siblings, but pursuing adoption was God’s gentle leading into foster care. Whole families were so much bigger than goodbyes.

Four weeks later toddler brothers bonded easily with us. It felt so normal to be their parents. Then I had toys and no kids, tears and no motivation. I’d stopped working to care for lives. Now I had laundry and dinner.

How will we say goodbye when we have kids for longer than a month?

John came back three weeks later. The siblings’ behavioral problems were too much for one family. He screamed and cried at night for hours.

“Tell him you’ll be here when he wakes up,” God said.

After a year with John I didn’t know he needed to hear that, but it put him right to sleep.

Then a 10-month-old girl and 6-year-old boy were ours for twenty months before reunification. We cried and worried. As a mom, I knew when they ate, slept, and pooped, and then I knew nothing. They went back to parents who grew up in foster care and broken families.

“They need their children so I can break the generational curse of poor parenting,” God said.

God’s perfect plan is for kids to be raised by their parents, however faulty they may be. More than rescuing one child, he wants to restore families.

So we kept in touch, having kids over for weekends. We’ve surrounded ourselves with people who are willing to inconvenience themselves to see other families thrive.

The agency sent John and his siblings for weekends with potential adoptive families. John wouldn’t look at me or talk to me when he came back. His behavior was terrible.

“Why are you being so mean to me, John?”

“I wanna go back to that other lady’s house,” he’d scream. I knew he didn’t, but part of me wanted to be the kid. Fine. I don’t want to deal with you anyway.

Finally the agency decided the siblings’ behavioral issues together were too much for one family. We adopted John November 19, 2016, during six months with two sisters.

In March three-month-old twin girls were totally reliant in our arms. We were in love, and grief. Our babies had gone a month with unknown broken bones until blood in the brain caused seizures. How could a father do that to babies who couldn’t talk back?

Kids are such a gift. A gift God gives to some people and not others to steward for we never know how long. College, marriage, death, or reunification, goodbye is a natural part of parenting.

On May 11, 2016, John’s birthday, a 1 and 2-year-old brother and sister became our children.

What’s surprised us the most is how normal it is. People probably think it’s strange we always have a different number of kids. But they’re our kids, and we love them. We love seeing scared and angry turn to safe and singing.

Like any parent, we cry saying goodbye. They’re only ours for a season, but they’re always God’s.

Melissa Kreider is a wife, mother, and the one who makes the house feel like home when keeping new foster kids alive seems like a feat. She’s passionate about helping broken families thrive in their parenting and as children of God. She’ll tell you everything especially the truth, she’ll fight with you to see you through, and she’ll laugh with you.

I don’t like change, but we’ve parented thirteen different kids in the last three years.

I could never foster, I thought, because I want to love kids as my own, not feel like a babysitter waiting to say goodbye.

My life was smooth and predictable. I’ll get married, wait a couple years, and then have kids I planned. But then eight years went by, and we weren’t able to have our own children.

Suddenly I had so little control over my plans, so I began asking God his plans.

“You believe abortion is wrong, right?” God asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then simply being a bystander who calls abortion evil isn’t enough. Step up and care for the unwanted children.”

So we parented children like our own, and they were ours. At first some would bolt if something scary would happen. Just run to any man or woman because daddy and mommy meant any male or female.

Then one day they’d turn and look for me. Finally I’d earned their trust. They knew where safety was. They knew who daddy was.

Then we cried saying goodbye. I was glad not to be the judge making the decision about reunification with birth parents, but I knew the real judge was God.

We’d watch our kids go back to their birth parents. They won’t do things the way we would. Oh my goodness they aren’t parenting this. She could grow up with an attitude if it’s not kept in check.

“God, how can we send our kids into an imperfect environment?”

“I sent my son to imperfect parents.”

God’s the perfect parent, and he sent his son to imperfect Joseph and Mary. If God was able to do that being perfect, so can we.

“Thank you for allowing them in our lives for a little bit, God. We’ll let go of our kids just like you let go of your son.”

The more we let go, the more we realized that we didn’t just want to foster to adopt.

We wanted to see our children reunified with their birth families, so God could transform the whole family, not just the kids.

Our kids could go home as missionaries. We could support the whole family, encouraging God’s original intention.

Loren Kreider is a husband, father, and fun-loving auto mechanic. He’s passionate about helping broken families thrive in their parenting and as children of God. He’s a loyal son, a fiery foster parent, and a lover of coffee and sweets with his wife when the kids go to bed.

“Your writing seems kinda off lately,” my mom said. “It’s just not the quality I’m used to from you.”

“I know. I’ve been tired, busy, and foggy-headed.” What’s wrong with me? I need to sleep more or discipline myself better. I have to start saying no to working on the house when I should be writing. I’ll drink less coffee, eat healthier.

“I am? I know I was praying and fasting when you showed me Author Academy Elite, but I need another sign.”

My gut was stormy ocean. My mind was pacing. My body was frozen. So many emotions I just whined and stood in Matt’s arms.

On decision day I was still a tug of war rope. My terror confirmed I had to, but I didn’t want to be selfish.

“To obey is better than sacrifice, Mary.” It felt like, knock it off. “Stubbornness is like witchcraft.”

“But I’m being stubborn for the right reasons, God.”

“Your sacrifices aren’t holy. You have value because I love you. You’re an author because I made you an author just like I made you a girl.”

Wow. I’m rebelling against God’s plan when I thought I was trying to be good.

Friends, I am an author not because I like writing, not even when I write well. I’m an author because that’s what God made me.

You’ve listened to the stories of God’s glory in my messy life. I’ve been honest because shared struggles encourage, and you’ve been just as real when I’ve interviewed you.

We’ve credited God in the days we drink coffee, which for me is every day and even more on hard days.

But I’ve been hiding God’s biggest glory in my life because I’m afraid to lose image. I was a crying 8-year-old who tried to earn love by being good and responsible. Then God taught me his love as a 21-year-old professional who was shaking, too terrified to sleep, lying all night next to my mother. God smothered me in his love by taking away everything I thought could earn it.

Next year, I’ll be publishing the story I’ve been too embarrassed to tell my family. I’m sharing the story of being diagnosed with bipolar because it’s God’s story. He entrusted me to give it to you.